Haunted
by Get Wisdom
Summary: The screams that pierced the night were those of the broken, those of the helpless and those of the haunted... Warning: Dark! DMHG. Slightly AU.


**Disclaimer: I'd LOVE to say I own Harry Potter but I don't. Boo. Everything (except this plot) belongs to JK.**

***Note! - Guys, please take note of the dates at the beginning of each scene. Otherwise this could get _very_ confusing _very_ fast.**

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><p><em>"Come on, come on, don't leave me like this<em>  
><em>I thought I had you figured out<em>  
><em>Can't breathe whenever you're gone<em>  
><em>Can't go back, I'm haunted"<em>

_- Haunted (Taylor Swift)_

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><p><span><strong>HAUNTED<strong>

_October 31st 2004_

The ballroom glistened with twinkling lights, and the merry melody floated high in the wind. There were handsome men, donned in dress robes of the most outrages variety; beautiful women, graceful as swans, clothed in all manner of elegant ball-gowns – and all were weaving through the room in a complicated swirl of colours and shapes. The tinkle of laughter and the plash of the fountain rode high into the night, and Hermione glanced around in wonder at the breath-taking scene. Harry had said it would be beautiful, but the word hadn't quite managed to capture the beauty of the ball.

Stifling a sudden feeling of nervousness, she smiled courteously and accepted a flute of sparkling champagne from the waiting men who were serving coloured drinks on silver trays. Looked like he was late, and she'd better have something to do until he showed up.

It may have been minutes, it may have been years; when suddenly an arm snaked around her waist, and she was pressed close against a warm chest. "I missed you, my love," a husky voice whispered in her ear, grating just the edge.

Hermione shivered, but not from the cold. On the contrary she was very warm.

Her bubble of happiness, which had inflated sky-high with his arrival, was now swiftly replaced with anger. "Where _were_ you?" she asks accusingly, breaking away from his grip. "I was getting scared Draco – does that mean _anything_ to you?"

His grey eyes narrow infinitesimally, but his expression didn't change. "I got late at work, and then I had to get into these dress robes," he says smoothly. "Damn Fercus, he always takes up so much time."

"I don't believe you." Her voice was cold.

A flash of something – fear? – flitted across his face, but it was gone before she could take a second look. "Darling, even if I _was_ doing anything else, you know I'd tell you. Don't be so paranoid Hermione. Now, come on, let's go get some punch." He caught her hand, sending his trademark smirk at her. "And, by the way love, you look very beautiful tonight."

She sighed, deciding to give up her argument for the night. Pressing a soft kiss on the emerald clad arm holding her, she smirked back at him. "Thank you darling. Now, about that punch?"

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><p><em><span>October 31st 2014<span>_

It was the smell that he noticed first – that raw smell of something rancid, masked by layers upon layers of stinging bleach. The chair that he was seated on was hard as nails, and a cold bead of sweat trickled down his neck, though the air conditioner was on at full blast.

A brisk _click-clack_ noise came from up the corridor, and a severe looking woman with a rope of black hair coiled into an equally severe bun on her head appeared. "There you are, Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped to his feet. "How is she?" he demanded urgently.

"Much the same as usual," the woman said briskly. "Follow me."

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><p><span><em>October 31st 2004<em>

The garden was enchanting, fairy lights glimmering on every tree. The perfume of honeysuckle and roses in full bloom blew softly in with the breeze. Hermione was glad she had agreed to go for a walk with Draco, the silence and the beauty of the night was overpowering.

Halfway through the garden, they had stumbled across a secluded little gazebo, and it was there that she sat now on the elaborately carved bench, while Draco leaned against the gazebo door, smoking a cigarette.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she whispered, afraid to speak aloud in case the beauty and the magic shattered around their ears.

He shrugged. "It's alright, I guess." He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and blew a long string of swirling white smoke into the night. "I've seen plenty better."

Hermione frowned. Something was off about him tonight. "Are you okay?" she asked, softly.

He laughed, though it sounded a trifle forced. "What makes you ask that darling? Look at me; I'm the picture of perfection."

Not true. There was a slight stoop to his normally confident posture, and dark rings were evident under his eyes. She got to her feet, and quietly came to stand behind him. "Draco… You know you can tell me anything you want right?"

"No!" There was a thud as he rammed his fist into the side of the gazebo trellis.

She flinched.

"No," he continued more gently, "there are some things Hermione, that I… I… can't tell anybody."

It felt as though an ice-pick had landed right in the middle of her heart, yet she ploughed on resolutely. "Is it that Riddle fellow Draco? Tom Riddle? Is he bothering you again?"

He didn't answer.

She cupped his cheek, but he still didn't look at her. "Look at me, Draco." His eyes darted to her face once, before lowering again. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Not about this I can't."

"Draco – "

"He threatened to _kill…_ someone, alright Hermione?" He was shouting again. He drew hard at the cigarette, before throwing it onto the ground and squashing the lit end with his foot.

"W..what?"

He sucked in a breath through his nose, closing his eyes. "Unless I join his band of little Death-Eaters, he threatened to kill somebody I loved."

She paused for a fleeting second, but then her arms encircled around his waist, her head landing on his chest. She wasn't angry at him – how could she be? – but she felt a deep ache in her heart for his predicament. "Who" – she swallowed – "who did he threaten to kill?"

He sighed, drawing her closer, placing a kiss on her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm done with Riddle anyway. I'm not going back."

But, she knew who it was.

It was her. Riddle had threatened to kill her.

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><p><em><span>October 31st 2014<span>_

"Hurry up, Mr. Potter," the woman commanded briskly. They wound around dizzying circles of corridors, left, right, centre, right, centre, on and on and on, till Harry ever despaired of getting to the destination.

"Ah, here we go." The woman took out a bundle of keys, and unlocked the scratched metal door.

"Wait." Harry grasped the woman's hand, stopping her. "Before I go in, I need to know… How is she? How is she _really?_"

"You asked me that question before."

"Well, you didn't exactly give me a proper answer, did you?" He paused, took a deep breath. "Ma'am… Please. She's important to me. I need to know."

The woman clicked her tongue irritably, before sighing and giving up.

"Oh, very well then. Her vitals have improved considerably since the last time you visited her, but I'm afraid that everything else has deteriorated. There was also a certain…" – she paused – "…how shall I say? – _escape_ attempt a few weeks ago, and that gave us all a good scare. But, other than that she's fine. You can go in now."

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry nodded, and slowly entered the room.

A lone bed was pushed against the far corner, and in the centre of the room was a bare table. Seated at the table, toying with a plate of food, was a girl with brown hair.

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><p><em><span>October 31st 2004<span>_

"Draco?" Her voice was shrill, sharp. "Draco, what's wrong?"

There was no answer. He simply seemed to be lying down on the bed, but she couldn't shake that nagging feeling of doubt out of her mind.

She tiptoed near the bed, and shook his hand. "Draco? Darling, it's late… Wake up; we have to go home now."

He looked like a man who was carved out of stone. "Draco, come on." A tinge of desperation came into her tone. "Please wake up."

_Bang!_

Hermione whirled around, heart hammering, to see a figure in purple dress robes with messy black hair loom over the doorway.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, her tone palpable with relief. She grasped his wrist, and dragged him over to the bed. "Please. Do something. He won't wake up… and it's late… and we have work tomorrow…" She trailed off into stunned disbelief as Harry Potter, the once arch-enemy of Draco Malfoy rested his head on the latter's chest. "What are you _doing?_"

He had his back turned to her, but when he spoke it was in clipped tones, and not even to her. The thin stream of silver issuing from his wand took the form of the familiar stag patroness. "I need help, bedroom overlooking fountain," and four silver streaks shot into the night.

Hermione was struggling to understand. She grabbed Harry's wrist again, this time very forcefully. As he reluctantly looked at her, she thought she saw a strange expression – was that fear? – dart across his face, before it was quickly replaced by a blank stare.

"What are you doing?" she repeated angrily. "I asked you to help me wake Draco up, not send distress signals!"

"I just thought Hermione," he said, steering her away from the bedside, "that perhaps it would be easier if people carried him home, you know, he's in too much of a deep sleep to be disturbed clearly –"

"_What?_" She shook herself free furiously, and ran back to the bed. "A simple wake up charm would have done the trick, you blithering idiot! You don't have to send distress signals to wake up a full grown man!"

And, as if to prove her own words, she delved her hand into her purse and brought out her wand. Clutching it tightly, she pointed it at Draco, and murmured, "Rennervate!"

Nothing happened.

Frowning, she gripped the wand tighter, concentrating hard. "Rennervate!"

Not even a flicker.

"Rennervate! Rennervate! _Rennervate__!"_ She put so much power into the last spell, that the window behind her cracked right down the middle.

She flung her wand away, yelling "Fuck it, Draco Malfoy, you are going to –"

"Hermione, stop –"

"Harry Potter, you let me go this fucking instant!" she screamed, trying to break away from his arms. "Fuck you Malfoy, you bloody bastard, wake up –" And reaching out, she slapped his face hard.

Draco's head snapped to the side. But, still there was not a flicker, not a whisper.

The force of her slap had jarred the pillow, however, and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

Instantly, Harry's grip around her tightened, but it was too late.

_I love you, Hermione. Please, forgive me._

The screams that pierced the night, were those of the broken, those of the helpless and those of the haunted.

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><p><em><span>October 31st 2014<span>_

Her curls, then lovely and delicate, were now matted and thick with dirt. She was hunched in on herself, one arm lying on top of the other. She was toying with the plate of untouched food in front of her, her feet beating a nervous pattern on the concrete floor.

Harry watched her stare at her plate, as if staring at the food would somehow make it disappear. Suddenly, a single tear streaked down her face and splashed silently into her cup.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

It was then that she looked up, it was then that she spotted him. Her gaze carried no recognition, he could have been any stranger that visited the St. Mungo's Psychiatric Ward for all she knew.

But, it was her eyes which terrified him. The once lively, intelligent eyes of the most brilliant girl in the school was replaced by the gaze of one who was broken beyond repair.

It was the gaze of the cornered animal who had lost all hope. It was the fractured, desolate look of the haunted.

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><p><strong>My course in psychology tends to mess with my head sometimes. Just a sad little one-shot which made me cry into my keyboard. <strong>

**Happy Halloween everyone. Please excuse me, while I go in search of a tissue box.**

**Reviews are as much loved as Trick or Treat candy...**


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